Sleep
by veto power over clocks
Summary: Prussia is disappering, he can feel it. It's time to put his life in order, see if he can save himself, and try to find someone to help him make a digital copy of all his diaries. No pairings. Rated T for language.
1. Prologue: Draw a circle

First attempt at a multichaptered fanfic, and I'm terrified.

So, I guess you've already seen the summary and know what you're here for, but I've got to warn you that I'm a very irregular updater (mainly because the muse hates me when I need her). Still I'll do my best to continue this story.

No pairings here, because that's not not the focus of the story (I might mention some of them), but there will be some Prussia/Liechtenstein friendship, and some Prussia/Estonia friendship if I manage to write Estonia (if you know any good Estonia fanfics that I could read, I'll be eternally grateful), but that's still a few chapters ahead.

Also, if you know anyone who'd like to beta this story, please let me know.

I hope you like this fanfic. As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome, as well as grammar and spelling corrections.

Thank you for reading.

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia belongs to Himaruya.

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><p><strong>Prologue: Draw a circle…<strong>

Prussia woke up. In itself, that shouldn't be a surprising action, since most people tend to wake up when they can't continue sleeping for one reason or another, but the fact is that Prussia simply woke up. It wasn't because he'd slept a lot (considering he went out with France and Spain last night, he'd barely slept). He didn't wake up because an alarm clock was ringing or Germany had decided it was time for him to get out of bed and do something useful (he didn't own any alarm clocks, and he'd been too drunk to go back to West's, so he'd stayed at France's house; Spain must have been sleeping somewhere in the room too); and he hadn't had any nightmares either (he wasn't afraid, it wasn't any important date, he wasn't far from everything). There wasn't even any sunlight to make him believe that it was time to get up.

The point is that Prussia just woke up, without feeling any pain, without feeling cold or hunger; he woke up and he didn't feel anything, and that's how he knew that there wasn't anything left of him in the world; that no one in the world thought of him as a country. There wasn't a person in the entire world, not one person of the millions that went with their lives every day, who considered themselves as a citizen of Prussia or East Germany, not a single human who thought of him as something that belonged to the present.

"Fuck", he said as he sat up in the… bed? That wasn't a bed, that was the floor (_Spain__ must__ have __gotten __the __bed, __lucky __bastard_), and he didn't even feel uncomfortable. "Fuck", he said again as he began to realize what that meant: he was a memory, he wasn't necessary and he'd fade away sooner o later, like all memories do.

"I guess this is it, then" he said as he stood up and tried to find his clothes, doing his best to discover in what room he was and to remember where the furniture was placed to avoid bumping into it, keeping his mind occupied before he tried to decide what to do next.

"Well", he said as he opened the door and gave one last look to the room behind him (_Spain __didn__'__t __get __the __bed__ either_, he noted as he looked at the man sleeping on the floor and at the perfectly tidy bed), "at least it was a good party".

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><p>Short, I know. It's the prologue.<p> 


	2. Chapter 01

Chapter 1 inmediatly, because the prologue was too short. In this chapter: Bad Touch Trio drinking a lot.

Same notes as before:

- I still need a beta.

- I still need to read some good Estonia fanfics.

- I still appreciate reviews, constructive criticism and corrections.

**Disclaimer:** still not mine.

**Chapter 1**

"Disappearing is the most boring thing in the world."

Germania told him that hundreds of years ago, and it was a memory that came back to him really often, mainly when he crossed that line between "drunk and happy (and/or violent)" and "too drunk to function or say anything coherent, I'm depressed!", and he thought he knew what his grandfather had been talking about. The memory came back to his head as he looked for something to eat in France's kitchen (_Why__ does __everything __in __this __kitchen __look __like __it __was __made__ by __a __chef?__ Damn,__ France, __can__'__t __you __have __something __simple __for __once __in __your __life?_), and, this time, Prussia really understood what the old man meant. He remembered the look on Germania's face as he said those words, how he hadn't looked tired, or scared, or worried, he just seemed to be completely and utterly bored; he wasn't feeling a thing, he wasn't feeling a goddamn thing, because there was no one left in him to feel it; only him, alone, really alone for the first time, alone to feel and want, but without being anything, because there was no one to be something for.

If Prussia could have chosen a way to die, simply disappearing would have been among the last things on his list. Before the Cold War, he always thought he'd disappear in a war, conquered and dissolved, replaced by a bunch of new nations with no idea of how the world worked, or maybe divided among the winners, murdered to prove the superiority of the enemy. During the Cold War, he thought he'd die when the bombs fell on the world, or maybe when Russia decided that his own name was enough for all the land (_What__'__s__ that__ thing __he __says?__ "__Become__ one __with __Russia__"__?_). When the wall fell, he thought he'd die when the world ended, or maybe in a war too, but that he'd die with his brother, two parts of the same territory. Dying like this, without a fight, without a chance to try to survive, was simply unfair, and if there had been someone to blame, the person in question would have found themselves beaten to a pulp for such a cruelty.

_How__ long __do__ I__ have?__ Will__ I__ stop__ feeling,__ or__ I__'__ll__ just__ stop__ feeling __the__ things__ associated__ with__ being__ a __nation?__I__ won__'__t__ stop __thinking, __that__'__s __for __sure. __And __I __guess__ I __can __want __things. __Do __I __still __want__ things? __Do__ I __still__ like__ beer?_ He stopped for a second and focused on that thought. _Yeah, __I __still __like__ beer. __Let__'__s __see __what __else__… __Do __I __still __like __to __annoy __Austria? __Fuck, __yeah,__ someone__ has __to __do __it. __Do __I __still __think __Ukraine __is __hot? __Definitely. __Ok, __I __guess __I__'__m __still __me, whatever that's worth. But it's__ something, I__'__m __me... __just __me._He finally found a piece of bread and sat down. _Just__ me__… __funny._

He started eating slowly, noting how weird it suddenly felt. He could taste what was in his mouth and he could feel it going down (he could really feel it, every muscle and nerve working to get that piece of bread from his mouth to his stomach, he guessed it would be an interesting experience if he actually knew something about anatomy), but he didn't _feel_ like he was eating; the subjective part, the part of eating that gives you happiness, or relief, or that makes you think "please, no more" wasn't there. He was just eating, without even knowing why. _I __wonder __if __it__'__ll__ be __like__ this __with__ everything_, he thought as he finished the bread and stood up, taking a bottle of something (he didn't bother to look, hope it wasn't too expensive) on his way out.

_But,__ honestly, __why __am __I __so __sure __that __I__'__m__ going __to __die?_, he thought as he left the house. _There__'__s__ only__ this __feeling__ of__ numbness.__ Of __not __existing. __Of __being __a __bit __more __unreal __than __everything __that __surrounds __me._ He looked around and gave a snort before opening the bottle. _Yeah, __I __can__'__t __even__ fool __myself. __Maybe __I__ should __get __some__ self-help__ books, __or __things __like __that. __Or __a__ movie. __Do __I __have __time__ for __books?_ He tried to remember how long it took Germania to disappear, but his last memory of his grandfather was of him leaving the house and saying goodbye, without even looking back. _The __old __man, __who__'__d __have __thought __he __was __so __sentimental_, he thought and started laughing loudly, almost hysterically, until there were tears running down his face and he couldn't breathe. He felt ridiculous; there he was, standing in France's garden, drinking and acting like a pansy. He felt stupid; he should be trying to throw the party of the century, or doing what people do on TV and make a list of all the things he always wanted to do, and it turned out that there wasn't a single thing that he wanted to do right now but laugh and drink and maybe hit someone in the face.

There was absolutely nothing he wanted (_needed_) to do, and it didn't have to do with the numbness, it was just that there really wasn't anything he wanted to do that he hadn't done (he didn't think about the things he wished he'd never done, because when you do you get drowned by guilt, and Germany feels guilty enough for both of them, and there's nothing he can do about that now, or about anything, for that matter). He felt strangely satisfied, because there wasn't a single thing he wanted.

"Liar", he told himself.

_I__ want __to __live_, he thought, and he guessed that that was the point when he should have started crying, but he was still busy laughing at himself and being angry at the situation, and crying for something like that would have made him feel even more pitiful. He always hated feeling pitiful.

He was forced to control himself when he heard France calling him, and when he turned around and saw the scared look on his friend's face, he knew he hadn't dealt with the idea of dying as well as he'd thought he had.

"France?", he said, and realized that he could barely speak, that his throat was sore from laughing and that he could barely stand, so he signaled the other nation to wait and tried to calm himself. "I'm disappearing", he finally managed to blurt out, in a tone that mixed amusement and the strain of containing a cry of frustration.

"What?" The look on France's face showed shock and worry, and Prussia immediately regretted saying anything, but now that he'd started, he had to continue.

"Yeah. Last night, the last citizen of East Germany died."

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><p>France woke up because there was someone laughing crazily in his garden, and he knew Belarus hadn't been there last night. He got out of bed, put on a robe and left the house, and what he found was Prussia doubled over himself, trying to breathe, laughing so hard that there were tears running down his face. It was one of the most disturbing things he'd ever seen and he would have gone back inside the house if the man laughing in his garden hadn't been his friend.<p>

"Last night, the last citizen of East Germany died", Prussia said, and France knew what that meant.

They went back inside and sat in the kitchen, now both of them with something to drink at hand. They stayed silent for a while.

"What will you do?" asked France finally, looking straight at Prussia.

"I have no idea. What do people usually do under these circumstances?"

"I don't know", said France and took another drink from the bottle. "How do you feel?"

"Numb."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"I thought it'd be different."

"Me too."

"Do you know how long you have left?"

"No."

"Oh."

"It should be a few months, I think. Or maybe a few years."

"What will you do?"

"I told you, I don't know. I'll probably get drunk and annoy some people while I can. That's what the guy in 'Iron Man 2' did. I can do something like that, but without the suit."

"That was a terrible movie."

"It had cool scenes."

"It didn't have any charm; it wasn't even good as a superhero movie. Not that it surprises me from America."

"Leave America and his movies alone, they're fun. And you have some really crappy movies too. Wanna talk about the live-action Astérix?"

"You're avoiding the subject."

"I'm not. 'Iron Man 2' has to do with what I'm saying; you were the one who started complaining about America's movies. And I don't know what I'll do. I don't even know if I should have told you."

"It's not like you have too many people to tell it to. And I would have found out eventually…" France looked at Prussia seriously, sadly, and then he walked to the door. "I'm getting Spain."

Prussia, Spain and France had been friends (or something that was a lot like that) for years. They'd fought together, they'd fought against each other, they had done some pretty stupid things together (there was a coffee shop in Buenos Aires where they wouldn't be allowed into until the owner died or got Alzheimer's), and they had had a lot of fun together (some of it at the cost of Austria's or England's dignity). They knew that when serious things happened, the hardest part was making sure that Prussia took them seriously (and didn't end up doing something impulsive that would get them into trouble), that France managed to act seriously (he was such a drama king that, sometimes, people didn't believe him even he was being honest); and that Spain didn't collapse under the seriousness (he was so happy, that grave situations brought him down with even more force than they did the others).

Telling your happiest friend that someone's about to die isn't the kind of thing that anyone could ever be comfortable with.

"I'm going with you", Prussia said.

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><p>Spain didn't cry at the news, and his two friends will always be thankful for that. He did open his eyes a lot, looking <em>like<em>_ a __deer __in__ the __headlights_ (according to Prussia) and didn't say anything, because his thoughts were wandering between the words that had been recently spoken to him, the headache that the hangover was giving him, and the pain at his left side, because, apparently, Prussia thought that poking someone on the ribs with your foot is a good and healthy way to wake them up. He also thought about the big smile he'd given the others when he finally managed to open his eyes, and how inappropriate it must have seemed to them.

In the end, they were all back at the kitchen, the entirety of France's reserve of alcohol in front of them, and not a single coherent thought on their heads. Spain opened the first bottle, which was promptly taken by Prussia and drunk without much consideration. This time they used glasses, and Spain couldn't remember when was the last time they had bothered with glasses in France's kitchen, because that was the only thing they never used there; that was the point of drinking there, annoying France with their planned lack of manners, opening three bottles of some rare wine that the blond man would claim he'd been saving for an special occasion (and they know it's a lie, because the really important drinks are hidden somewhere in the house, in a place that they've never been able to find despite years of searching, including a movie-inspired attempt to sneak in while the owner was out) and drinking straight from them, laughing, sharing, forgetting what bottle belonged to whom, while in the meantime they managed to get some snacks and discuss the really important things of life, like the incredible reality of their own existence, France's unresolved sexual tension with England, politics, economy, England's unresolved sexual tension with America, and the time of growth of tomatoes. He was tempted to start crying then, so instead he glared at the empty glass in his hand, as if it could give him an answer.

"You two realize I'm not dead yet, right?", said Prussia, looking at his own glass too. When he didn't get an answer, he looked up to find his friends avoiding his eyes. "I'm not dead, and I won't die. I don't know how, but I won't die."

Another pause, and everyone was just waiting. _Will __he __just __disappear?_, thought Spain, and tried to look at the albino without being too obvious. He was caught staring.

"I don't know how it'll be", said Prussia. "I don't even know how long it'll take."

"You don't know anything?"

"No. It's just that… nations don't die like this."

"Nations are not supposed to die" said France with a serious look on his face. Spain remembered that look from the Revolution, he remembered France standing by the guillotine, never looking away as his citizens died, and his citizens celebrated, as his citizens fought and thought. That was France dealing with change, dealing with uncertainty and fear. Spain probable looked weird too, because France looked at him and gave a small nod, and then he raised his glass to Prussia and waited for the others to join him in the action.

A silent toast, because France liked to mark moments as important with big gestures.

A silent toast, because Spain didn't want to ruin everything by speaking.

A silent toast, because, no matter how many times he'd already thought that he'd find a way out, even if he'd said that he wouldn't die, Prussia felt unreal, and he couldn't describe that.

A silent toast and everyone went home. They all had some thinking to do.


End file.
